


Molten

by Razer_Athane



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Comfort, Crushes, Established Relationship, F/M, First Impressions, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Mass Effect Relationship Week, Mass Effect Relationship Week 2020, Prompt Fic, Secret Crush, Shakarian - Freeform, Talking, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razer_Athane/pseuds/Razer_Athane
Summary: In this afterglow of combat, he knows she is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. [Shakarian Oneshot Collection, Complete.]
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63





	1. Day One: First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be a small Shakarian oneshot collection, for [**_Mass Effect Relationships Week 2020_** (#merweek2020)](https://cactuarkitty.tumblr.com/post/618430494558781440/announcing-the-forth-annual-mass-effect), being run by cactuarkitty on tumblr. The prompt for day one is **first impressions** , I've set this in ME1. Would love to hear what you think, I hope you enjoy it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time she meets him, she thinks of mercury. The first time he meets her, he believes the galaxy's stars are stitched into the skin across her face.

The first time she meets him, she thinks of mercury.

Angry and composed, frustrated and enthralling. Quicksilver in plates and stature and tongue. His voice with a metallic tang that carries flexible strength even in the face of his superior officer. Determined to be useful, only to be seen as toxic. 

A simmer threatening to bubble and steam and _burn_. _Mercury._

Shepard tries to focus on the rage buried beneath his words to his superior, but his tone, the whole of him, enraptures her. The light from the fountain glinting off his plates and his armour. The snarl that she knows all too well, intimately like family: the one she would have across her face right now, if this turian hadn’t disarmed her without knowing.

Her eyes drown into the deep blue markings, swallowing her like the tide as the world around her fall away. Her interest caged by the turian who pushed for more without relenting. Who stuck to his words and his instinct, and didn’t falter in the face of his superior. Who demanded her attention without even realising it.

And then his head snaps to her; composure is hard to keep before those eyes.

The pause is brief. His voice washes over her like a wave, with hints of the liquid metal ebbing and flowing under the surface. Shepard struggles to remember how to breathe.

“Commander Shepard, Garrus Vakarian. I was the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren.”

He doesn’t look away, and neither does she.

Blue on blue, sky on sea.

Garrus knows of Commander Shepard. Her story reaches most military circles, the growth of humanity, watching them stand on their own two feet. Red hair waving like a banner in the Elysium sky. A rallying cry, the formation of a resistance in the Skyllian Blitz. The birth of a Terran Star, deep in the Verge.

The unknowing origin of a legend, whose tapestry still weaves before her every step.

He regards her quietly as she speaks to him. Without chagrin at his youth; without the expected contempt for his specie; she sees him for _him._ She asks questions, she listens to him, even when her two human companions push for more urgency in their task.

The Council doesn’t like being kept waiting.

The Commander nods at him briefly, passing by him like the streak of a comet. The Star of Terra on her front plate; Terra survives, Humanity thrives. And all he can think of is how free she seems. How endless and full of spirit she seems, like the galactic spirals that can be found in every corner of the known universe. Like the depths of space, the true untamed nature of the galaxy.

The first time he meets her, he believes the galaxy’s stars are stitched into the skin across her face.


	2. Day Two: Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galaxy has hurt Shepard, but he won’t. He refuses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks kindly for the feedback so far! This is day two: **hobbies** (set in ME2). Enjoy!

“Reading.”

“Yes, shut up.”

Garrus regards the book in her hand. “Why don’t you just use your omni-tool?”

“It’s not the same.”

The book in her hand is heavy and old and thick, with the maroon spine splitting from what could be decades of disuse. A delicate finger’s slotted in from the top, softly separating the pages and keeping her place. The pages part gently around her skin, like a ripple in a pond; and Garrus is the stone.

“Am I disturbing you?” he asks, hovering around the doorway.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe a bit.”

“I can leave.”

“No.”

He turns his head a bit, unsure of what to say next. The conviction and speed of her answer makes his guts turn inside-out when they shouldn’t. With a shrug, he heads to the bar instead. His eyes briefly catch the letters carved into the frame of his visor, as he chases a drink to drown out those same ghosts.

Garrus finds that drink; he seizes the bottle and a glass and pours until it’s filled to the brim. He grabs the glass and walks back to her, sitting beside her and taking a quiet sip.

“Is that Horosk?”

“Yeah.”

“Lookin’ to pass out tonight, Garrus?”

“Damn right.”

He won’t tell her about Sidonis, not yet.

He won’t tell her about the ghosts that shadow each of his steps, whispering words that fade with every passing day, falling deeper into the crevasses of his forgotten memory. He won’t tell her that the survivor keeps him up at night as he hunts for him, hell-bent for a trail through the extranet. He won’t tell her, not now. Maybe not ever, if it’s best for her.

She’s still reeling and healing from her own trauma. She doesn’t need his. She doesn’t need to shoulder his wounds too, on top of everything she already carries. She is already crippled, cracking under pain and grief and fear and loss, and _rage._

The galaxy has hurt Shepard, but he won’t. He refuses.

Her voice is soft when she looks at him, “Just so you know, I’m glad you’re here.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried, Shepard.”

They both know it’s not quite true; Death ripped them apart like frayed stitches.

Still, she grins; but it doesn’t reach her eyes anymore, “I know, and I’m grateful. It’s nice to be in the company of someone I _know_ I can trust.”

He chokes on his subvocals, and then thanks the Spirits that humans are too deaf to hear them. With a shrug, he sips more of his Horosk, watching the other door like a quiet guardian, if only to protect Shepard’s peace for tonight. But really, he spends it staring at her reflection. But really, he watches her pick up from where she left off, her eyes scanning over every word. But really, Garrus always watches Shepard.

When he gets half way down the glass, he sunders the silence, asking, “Why aren’t you in your room reading instead? Or in the other observation room, in the library?”

“I spend enough time in my room, don’t you think? And Samara can be a bit intimidating, I’d prefer not to bother her.” She looks down and carefully at the open book, hunting for the sentence he forced her to abandon with his question. “Besides, it’s quiet here too.”

They fall into silence again, as comfortable and easy as breathing; at least, on his part.

Garrus tries to subtly read the title on the front, blinking a few times to try and focus his eyes, thinking the drink is getting to him. It takes him too long to realise it is not translating.

“Shakespeare,” she answers.

“What’s that?”

“He was the greatest writer the country of England ever knew, back in the late sixteenth, early seventeenth century.”

“That book is centuries old and it’s not in a human museum?”

And then his guts twist, because Shepard laughs softly, her smile wider than he’s ever known it. “No, Garrus! The work inside is centuries old, but this is a newer print than that, about forty years old. I picked it up from a second-hand asari bookshop when we were last on the Citadel.”

“And what does he write about?”

Garrus realised two years ago that he could listen to Shepard forever. Battle reports to the Council; barking orders across the roar of gunfire; her quiet giggle when she had too much to drink. Her stories of Mindoir when she chose to share them; her memories of fights when she dared to pull them up; her endless questions about turian civilisation. And now he listens about a long dead man’s poems and plays and comedies and tragedies.

Her voice soothes him in a way nothing else could. Then, and now. He hopes he can do the same for her.

“But why?” he asks next, willing the thrum of his subvocals to lull into silence, watching the Horosk infect him with a curiosity he could never truly voice without tripping over every word. “Why read the words of a dead man from centuries ago? You’re here. Live in the present. Live for now, not for back then.”

Shepard gazes at his scars. He lets her. “To remind me that not all despairs end in darkness.”

Tonight, his guts have already turned inside-out and twisted; and now they knot. Deep down inside, tightly wound like a noose that he’s yet to thread his neck through – but he would risk it anyway.

Garrus sips his drink and then stares at her reflection in the glass. “Why isn’t it the same?”

Shepard’s breath ghosts out of her lungs and doesn’t return for a few moments, almost like she’s suffocating all over again. Garrus sees that too. But soon she inhales, slow and deep, fixing him a quizzical look while leaning back in the seat. “Huh?”

“When I asked why you don’t use your omni-tool, you said it isn’t the same. Why?”

Shepard’s speechless for a while. He doesn’t count the minutes, he doesn’t push for a response. He lets her collect the words and sort them out in her head first. He expects nothing of her. He will never expect anything of her, because too many expect too much of her. But he won’t – he refuses that, too.

And when the words come, he listens. “It’s… It’s not the same feeling. If I kept reading books off my omni-tool, I’ll feel like I’m at work. But a book in my hand is a world I can hold and revisit at any time. I can be someone else. I can allow myself to imagine happy thoughts. I can let myself be taken away from all the dark and the gloom, if only for my little private slice of time. Something to keep me grounded, before I float away. Because I don’t want to float away. I don’t… I don’t want to lose myself ever again.”

He sees what’s in between the lines: not like the days that followed the Skyllian Blitz. The dimming of the Terran Star, even when the metal shines brightly against her melted armour.

Garrus nods, “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. That’s what the galaxy was like without you.”

He sees Shepard’s index finger twitch against the page. The last of the Horosk grants him bravery.

“That’s what _my_ galaxy was like without you.”

When he stands to wash his glass and put it away, he feels her eyes burn sea salt into his spine. He pretends not to notice, but in reality, it consumes him with a warm glow – like fire swallowing metal. It reminds him of lava spreading across a cold surface. When he turns to face her again, her gaze seemingly softens at the sight of him, or maybe that’s the Horosk making him realise what he tries to fight.

“Why do you like to read, Shepard?”

She chuckles, and he loves the sound. “What is this, Twenty One Questions?”

“I’ll pretend to know what that is when I’m not tipsy.”

Shepard looks back down on the cover of Shakespeare, drifting her fingertips over the splitting maroon spine. He takes a few steps forward into the middle of the room; and then she speaks, “When I was just a kid out in the Attican Traverse, I always looked up to the stars and dreamed of travelling. I wanted to see stars up close. I wanted to see Earth, the origins of my race, of my family. But we weren’t financially well off like some of the others, it always seemed like a far off dream. So I turned to books instead, seeing a thousand different stories and nameless places. A private, comfortable adventure. Reading calms me down, Garrus.”

“Why stick your nose in a book when you can look out the window?”

She regards him quietly for exactly three breaths. Blue to blue, sky to sea; the same, quiet dance as two years ago. It breaks quicker than it used to, like she’s uncomfortable in her own skin; the settled oceanic echo of her people that he’s growing too fond of. And then she does as he suggests, looking out the window into the expanse of darkness, as empty as a lie.

“Because it’s safer,” Shepard finally answers quietly.

“You’re safe with me.”

He says it with such conviction that for three seconds, Shepard almost believes him.

And then she turns to face him, smiling – his guts turn inside-out, twist, and knot all at once.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Vakarian. It goes both ways. Nice to know we’ll always have each other’s six.”

“Damn right.”

Shepard smile doesn’t leave. Garrus gives her one in return, though it hurts his face, and makes his scars want to split open and weep across his mandible. She then dips her head back down, flicking open Shakespeare again, and finds the sentence she’d been at. And as he watches her read quietly, with the expanse of space behind her in the window, he’s reminded of Shepard the woman, not the Commander. The human, not the soldier. Her, not her legacy.

That feeling in his guts hits him again when he leaves the room, allowing her peace. Clawing up his body and constricting around his heart. What an ache her smile brings; his truth that he finally recognises.

She is embers in the night – dimmed but alive, burning in the dark.

_…Crap._


	3. Day Three: Mass Effect + Andromeda AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a galaxy at war, he is her piece of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is day three: **Mass Effect + Andromeda AU.** Okay, I admit it: I have never played Andromeda, lol. I'M SORRY! So with this one, not quite an AU like the prompt requested, still tried to do something with it nonetheless. Set in ME3. Enjoy!

The wails of the grieving asari punch a hole through Shepard’s armour.

Brave fighters against the doomsday of their time. Screams and silences, and all in between.

Thessia’s behind her, but their voices still reach her.

She feels so defeated.

Shepard stares into the glare of her helmet, remembering how she felt about humanity. Wondering what Liara really thinks deep down, seeing her people in disarray. Wondering what Tali really feels underneath the suit, fighting tooth and claw for her people for so long, and for what? For nothing now? Because of these machines? And everyone else, all her friends, maybe her enemies; Garrus most especially.

Will their efforts be enough against such a force?

“You know, the Andromeda Initiative launched one year ago today.”

She looks up and stares at the doorway to her room, glaring at Garrus, “I hate it when you walk in without knocking.”

He smirks, “I know deep down you love it.”

She fights to keep a glare on her face, but it melts under the pressure of his voice, dissipating into nothing. The door closes behind him, and she looks back at her helmet on her bed.

“There’s a vid report about the Andromeda-bound arks playing now, if you wanted to look,” Garrus tries, sensing her growing distress. He walks over to her, prattling on, “They’re talking about logistics, how far they would be right about now, what worlds they might find in Andromeda – ”

“And how far away they can get from the Reapers.”

“…Right, yeah, that too.”

He stops uselessly in the middle of her room, scratching the back of his head, glancing at the fish tank for a brief moment. Shepard just stares into her helmet, wondering how many more lives it’ll take to stop the Reaper threat. Because she’s tired of counting. She’s so tired of this _game._

“Shepard, you need to stop thinking about Thessia. You need to rest.”

“Garrus –”

“You haven’t checked in on anyone since we got back, that’s unlike you. And the colours under your eyes are darker than they normally are, which means you haven’t slept. So I’m here to make you rest. Have you even eaten?”

“Garrus –”

“Crap, I knew I should’ve brought some food. What can I get you? I’ll be back –”

“ _Garrus._ ”

His voice dies. He stares at her like he’s awaiting orders, and she hates that here in this space.

“I don’t need _anything._ I don’t need food, I don’t need to be reminded that I gotta rest, I don’t need _fuss._ ” Her expression softens a bit when she sees uncertainty flash across his sky-blue eyes. She stares at the scars on her knuckles. “Will you just talk? About anything. I don’t know.”

Shepard wants to rest, but she can’t stop thinking about Thessia. She can’t stop thinking about the lives already lost, and the losses to come. She can’t stop weighing up the odds, wondering if there is any point. The anxiety eats away at her brain the longer she’s awake, but she can’t put it down, because the wails of the grieving asari shadow her still.

But now Garrus is here. Garrus, forever at her six. Garrus, bound by loyalty. Garrus, who she loves and still can’t quite say it, even though the end of all things stalks in the dark, circling around a galaxy that crumbles and burns.

In a galaxy at war, he is her piece of peace.

He picks up her helmet and sits beside her, placing it in his lap. He smooths a hand over the surface with quiet affection. “Hmm. My Father told me about the human Pathfinder recently, for the uh, human ark. Hyperion, I think he said. Weird human name – oh, no, wait, that’s the ark… Alec Ryder, that was it.”

Shepard tries to focus on his words, the facts he gives her about someone so far away, but it’s hard. Instead, she finds solace in the sound of his voice. Rich and steadfast – she wishes human ears were more attune to turian subvocals, a whole extra layer of language that she’s unwillingly deaf to. 

“…but anyway. Uh, sorry Shepard, you know I’m not very good at these things.”

“Would you have ever considered going on the turian’s Natanus? To go to Andromeda?”

“I don’t know if I could commit to that kind of journey,” Garrus admits. “Seems frightening.”

“And yet you walk into danger every day beside me.”

“You don’t scare me,” he teases; and then he adds, more serious, “I have nothing to fear when I’m with you.”

Shepard’s insides shake. She knows it’s supposed to be comforting; instead, it starts an eruption.

“And what if I lead you to your death, Garrus? What if we can’t repel the Reapers?” she hisses, hands digging into her knees. Then she rises, pacing. “What if we’re not strong enough to destroy them? To send them back into hell, instead of back into the dark?”

“Shepard –”

“It’ll be for _nothing._ All the effort that went into our war preparations will be for nothing, because the Reapers will eat it all up. All the work that went into the Andromeda Initiative, all the hopes and dreams that it carries, the people of every ark, will just be a long awaited _dessert._ ”

“They will _survive,_ Shepard,” Garrus growls.

She stares up at him as though he is the only good thing left in this galaxy.

“They will survive because _we_ gave them the chance to. They will survive, just like you, just like us.”

He gestures to the scrapes on her helmet, placing it between them. To the scars on her knuckles, to the ones on his face.

“The Reapers will burn and melt into nothing, burying themselves into the psych of every living thing; and the Andromeda colonists will survive untouched by their horrors. They will survive because of _you._ ”

He wraps his hands around her wrists for a moment, and she knows it’s his quiet way of showing support. When she pulls away, she knows he thinks it’s because she doesn’t want to be held; she watches him relax when she instead wraps her hands around his, clutching at him like a lifeline.

“Sometimes I wish I could just run away, and never look back,” Shepard admits lowly.

“Would you have gone to Andromeda? That’s pretty close to running away and never looking back.”

She’s not sure.

All the weight that she would’ve left behind with the Reapers would be piled upon her here instead. Guard the Pathfinder, take down the enemies – at least they know the enemy here. At least they know thresher maws can take one down, that the Protheans tried and left a glimpse of hope for the future. No one knows what’s in Andromeda, and yet they’d expect the same of her.

She knows she would suffer a similar fate in Andromeda: _restlessness._

Shepard answers, “I don’t think Andromeda would have given me the life I wanted.”

“I never would have gone to Andromeda,” Garrus replies. “Not without you.”

“I just want a normal life. This soldier is tired of fighting. But I have to.”

“Honour bound.”

“I’m not good for anything else.”

“Bullshit.”

She looks at their hands. He leans forward and bumps his forehead against hers.

“You’re damn good at a lot of things, but sulking isn’t one of them, Shepard.”

He pulls one hand from her grip and uses it to softly graze her cheek for a shadow of a moment; it’s enough to calm the storm inside of her. She squeezes his other hand in thanks. Garrus smiles a bit and then stands, letting go of her hands and heading back out for the exit.

“I’m going bring you some food, and you’re gonna eat it. Then you’re gonna get flustered at me like normal, tell me to stop fussing over you, and I’m going to tell you you’re an idiot for trying to stop me. And then after _that_ , you’re gonna pass out on this bed and rest for several hours. Is that understood?”

“You can’t boss me around, Vakarian. I’m your CO.”

And yet he’s still commanded a grin on her face. “I’ll be back soon, Shepard.”

She watches him leave as quietly as he came. In the silence, she realises the wails of the grieving asari have subsided in her brain. Present, but softer, in the background, and she is grateful. She’s grateful that she has a bit more energy now, too – so she stands, heading for the shower.

Her eyes pass over the helmet, gazing at her reflection, and wonders how long it will be before those in the arks will see their own faces again.


	4. Day Four: We Are Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Survival is not optional, Shepard. Come home to your family. To me. Then we’ll talk about getting a dog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this a bit late, had a bunch of medical stuff to do yesterday which exhausted me. This is day four: **we are family** (set in ME3). Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Learning about each other is an entirely different thing when you’re from different species.

Shepard knew turians couldn’t swim and have a poor centre of gravity due to their height – the Alliance taught her this in her early days. But there’s more that they didn’t teach, more that she learns. She learns turian discipline and loyalty runs _deep_ in their veins, carved into every bone and stitched into their carapaces. Formed from birth, and unshakable even in the face of the end.

Garrus knew humans couldn’t breathe without assistance in most atmospheres and have thin, breakable skin – the Heirarchy taught him this in his early days. But as with everything, there’s a second side, with more discoveries big and small that the military won’t pass over. He learns human creativity is infinitely _eternal_ , an endless melody with a myriad of thoughtful paintings and dances. Formed from birth, and unwavering even at the end of days.

Still, there is always one thing that is the same, no matter your race.

Shepard smiles up at him, “Tell me about your family, Garrus.”

Glancing away from his Palaven reports, he looks down at her lying beside him, “Really?”

“No, I’m just joking, I don’t give a fuck,” she drawls, the sarcasm dripping from every word like lava pouring from a volcano’s jagged rim. She shuts off her omni-tool, still staring up at him expectantly, wearing a cheeky grin.

He counters her statement by running his fingers through her crimson hair. She silences for a moment – she always does, when he does this – and he says, “I’m not sure where to begin, really.”

“I don’t know. Just tell me about them.”

There’s a pause in the Captain’s Cabin as Garrus tries to think of where to start. He watches the fish opposite him, swaying from one side of the aquarium to the other in relative silence. Then his eyes divert back to Palaven’s reports. In time, the words arrive.

“Well, my Dad worked for C-Sec, this you already knew. Showed me how to use a gun, tried hard to uh, reinforce that stubborn turian discipline… taught me never to give up. But when I worked _with_ him at C-Sec? Spirits, the clashes, the headbutting, I just couldn’t deal with doing things _his_ way when there were _other_ ways. Threatened to lock me up at one point because of how I ‘operated’.”

Shepard stares at him, almost aghast, “Your own Father threatened to lock you up?”

“For turians, it’s not unheard of for that to happen here and there. It’s an attempt to correct objectionable behaviour, to let the individual reflect on disobedience.” He pauses for a moment, watching her face relax. “I, uh, take it that’s not something common in human culture?”

“A family member tossing you in jail sounds like a timeout for a turian.”

“A timeout?”

“Human thing, don’t worry; but yeah, your own family putting you in jail? Definitely uncommon and weird to a human.”

“Mmm, I’ve told you before, I’m not a very good turian. Don’t like taking orders.”

“Yeah, but you still listen to me, Vakarian.”

“Your orders make sense, though. Bossing me around and ‘cover me’ and ‘right _there_ ’–”

She smacks his shoulder, trying not to laugh, “Vakarian, stop. Another time.”

His smirk melts a hole through her armour and then her heart. Shepard’s weakness, growing with each passing day; when she grins back, she sees the same weakness in his sky blue eyes.

“Dad also talked me out of the Spectres, though sometimes I gotta wonder…”

“It’s not too late.”

“I like being in your shadow, Shepard. It’s a nice place to be.”

“You’re just saying that because you get to watch my ass all the time.”

“Well, no, but, that too.”

Shepard rolls her eyes and then closes them, remembering the Shadow Broker’s lair and the dossiers she found. His dossier’s words remain tattooed across her mind’s eye: _Unlikely to fully develop under Shepard’s command._

How much of Garrus’ capabilities did she suppress?

“I called him after he retired, near the end of the Archangel stuff. Tried to make amends, ended up getting combat advice. Never told him I was in trouble, but I guess he sensed it. Dad’s what a good turian _should_ be: unflinchingly loyal. When Mom was in a hit and run while he was at C-Sec, before I came along, he wanted to come home, but Mom ordered him to stay there. So he did. Palaven’s too far from the Citadel anyway. I…”

Garrus’ voice dies in the back of his throat. She’s surprised by the temporary silence.

Then he starts again, “My sister Solana helped her more than I ever could. I’m glad she and Dad made it off world. Haven’t heard back since, but I’m sure they’re fine. Dad’s great at ordering people around, and he’s stubborn; and Solana listens, especially when it’s important. The perfect pair, they’ll be fine.”

“Pair? Not trio? All this talk about your Father, a bit for your sister, and nothing about your Mother.”

“Mom died.”

A beat, and then the corners of her lips sink downward. “Garrus, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. The sickness… It was a long time coming.”

“If I knew, I never would have asked you to come with me.”

“And if you did know, I would’ve come along anyway.”

“But you need time to mourn.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Garrus finally snaps, his voice snapping like a whip. “Just don’t, leave it.”

He does need time to mourn, but there is no time. She needs time still to process grieve for spitfire Jack, but there is no time. People need time they don’t have to mourn those that they have lost – she wishes she could give everyone that time. Shepard sits up and slings an arm around his shoulders, “Alright. When you’re ready, I’d love to hear about your Mother. When it stops hurting.”

“When our job is done,” Garrus replies, eyes diverting back to the Palaven reports. Primarch Victus loves details, and it is hard weeding out the important facts from those details. “And what about you? I know a little from your official records about Mindoir, but nothing else, really.”

“I haven’t got any blood relatives left, Garrus. I’m fighting for all the other families out there.”

As she leans her head on his shoulder, his voice feels tight, “‘Sorry’ isn’t enough and sounds lame, but that’s all I’ve got.”

“It’s alright, Vakarian. That was a long time ago now. I’ve… dealt with as much of it as I can.” She pauses momentarily, wrapping her hand around one of his arms. “My family were farmers for the colony. Lots of early mornings and late evenings, plenty of sunrises and sunsets in my memory. Watching my parents and uncle toil endlessly in the field, joining them when I was old enough, watching the rays. I keep that memory close. They taught me what it meant to be selfless.

“The Alliance became my family after that, for a long time. Backed me up no matter what, and a great way to honour the memory of my real family by serving humanity. And I’m grateful. But now, _you_ are my family. You and Joker and Tali, and everyone on the Normandy, then and now. My crew. My mismatched family. _This_ is where I belong. This is my home now.”

“You belong among the galaxy’s stars, like the spots on your face.”

“I’ve told you before, they’re called freckles.”

“No, they’re starlight, marking you for greatness.” She laughs, shoving him gently. He laughs a little too and closes up his omni-tool, turning to face her wholly on the lounge in her room. When the silence starts to thicken, he clears his throat and speaks again, “Did you ever want a traditional family experience?”

“The two-point-five kids in a big ass house?”

“I just mean settle down somewhere with a kid or five.”

“ _Five?_ ”

He raises his hands in surrender, “Hypothetical, Shepard. Not like we can make babies anyway.”

“Promise to ask me again at the end of the war.”

“Alright, I promise. There’ll be a lot of kids without homes running around. When the war is over, and the damage and rebuilding efforts afterward, I’m sure the Alliance will allow you to retire and get that life that you want. And uh, I’m sure we could provide a nice home for some of those orphans.”

“Can we start with a dog first?”

He rolls his eyes, “No varrens.”

“I said _dog,_ not _fishdog._ Y’know, to get the homely feeling set up right for us and for them. Oh, and a garden, too!”

“I’ll weed the flowers, you mow the lawn. Teach that grass a lesson, Shepard.”

Garrus’ omni-tool rings, a green light flashing below. When they glance at the caller, it’s the Primarch again, saying he wants to see him as there has been an update on Palaven. Sighing, he stands – much to Shepard’s annoyance – and stretches a little.

Shepard rises with him, quickly threading her hand through his, “ _Is_ that something you would want? I’m not sure for myself, it’s not something I really let myself think about given the circumstance… but I’d be willing to find out with you, if I survive.”

“‘If’ you survive the war?” Garrus chuckles. “Survival is not optional, Shepard. Come home to your family. To me. Then we’ll talk about getting a dog.”

They smile at each other one more time before he leaves, duty calling him away from family.


	5. Day Five: Emotional Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His voice, warm like lava, electrifying like thunder, seizes her attention and doesn't let go. "I'm with you until the end. Okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is day five: **emotional moments** (set in ME1). Yep, that moment. Yep, that moment that still MAKES ME SAD. I really appreciate all the support so far, thank you! Enjoy!

“Dismissed.”

Sky blue eyes watch the krogan, the quarian, the asari, and the surviving human biotic file out of the room immediately. Each cast a passing glance at the empty chair where a human soldier once sat. Each avoid the eyes of their Commander, who stands in the middle; and then they are out of the room.

The turian remains for a moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Commander’s face, for her voice is too controlled, to tight. But she leaves, brushing past him; he waits for a moment before following her, keeping his distance, until he’s been led away to a quiet stairwell within the Normandy. “Commander, are you alright?”

She won’t turn to face him, he doesn’t reach for her. He waits patiently.

“I never want to see Virmire again.”

Garrus watches the curve of Shepard’s spine, wrapped in muscle and skin and metal armour. Her shoulders and fists shake and shudder like the start of an earthquake. He stands nearby grimly, his feet glued to the floor, and unsure of how to proceed. He’s never seen the Commander like this. He knows he doesn’t want to see it again. But he doesn’t know what to do _now._

“I never want to see that place again, or set foot on it, or orbit near it; _never again._ ”

“Commander…”

She slams her fist against the metal. It rings through the hull like a pained cry.

Shepard takes a moment to breathe. “This shouldn’t have happened. This never should’ve fucking happened.” Her fist unclenches against the metal surface, her fingers unfurling like a flower’s petals opening. “We were supposed to go in there, fuck shit up, and leave with everyone alive. _Everyone._ ”

He hurts for her then, hearing that: the optimism that she tried to bury, surfacing in the dark.

“Is it so much that I just want one fucking good thing to come from this _for me?_ For my crew?” Shepard’s hand slides down the wall, and then she turns to face him. “I want to help everyone, _everyone,_ I know the stakes here, but I didn’t want to _lose anybody!_ ”

Garrus stays completely still, watching her sea-blue eyes shimmer under the Normandy’s lights.

“I killed Ashley, Garrus.”

“Saren did, not you,” he replies immediately, unwaveringly.

“I gave the order!”

“And Saren forced you to make that decision – it was not _you_.”

“What am I even going to say to her family? ‘Sorry for your loss, I had to make a shit choice’ doesn’t cut it. I don’t even know what I’m going to tell them.” She presses her fingers against her temples, trying to alleviate a biting headache. “An email wouldn’t suffice, I have to call. I have to call and tell them what I did.”

“No, you tell them the truth, Commander. You tell them that a good soldier gave her life to the mission. To protect her family and her friends, and strangers alike. You tell them that Ashley stayed behind to ensure a bomb went off to hinder the rise of Saren, his geth, and the Reaper threat; and even in the face of death, she did not back down. You tell her how committed she was to the cause, to the crew – and that she will be missed.”

Every breath Shepard takes shakes and rattles in her ribcage, squeezing from her lungs and through her armour. Garrus takes a step forward and restrains the sadness in his subvocals – it’s not like she can hear or understand it – and places both of his hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t move.

“Never forget, this is Saren’s fault, no one else’s. It’s just one more reason we have to make the bastard pay.” 

She places one of her hands on his, giving it an appreciative squeeze; it registers a faint feeling of surprise in him, even as she says, “I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself for this. I should have been in her place, I should have taken the fall.”

“Situations evolve, you know this from the Skyllian Blitz. This is no different.”

“I should have taken her place, then no one would be missing a daughter. Alenko could’ve led you all in my stead, and I’d be a pile of bones on that stupid planet. It should have been my life. I have no right to order someone to surrender their life.”

“You need to pull yourself together, Commander, because we’ll all need you before the end.”

Garrus takes a step back, his hands sliding from her shoulders and back to her sides. He watches when her hand partially follows the decline of his, and then it hovers in the air for a moment, as if seeking it’s memory, before falling down. It is an image that imprints itself in his mind.

“We all know why we’re here, and the risks too. As terrible as Ashley’s loss is, she saved many others now, and in future. Captain Kirrahe and his crew are here today because of her. Thousands of others, before we knew her, and since, are breathing because of her actions. I think that’s what she would want us to focus on, more than anything. The good left behind.”

The good left behind.

Shepard fixates on that, remembering every mission together, every close call, every rescue. Ashley was a damn good soldier, and Shepard would never forget it – but she, more than anything, just wants to thank her for her work. To thank her for her faith in her as a Commander, in the mission. She stares into space, listing all the things she wants to say, until –

“Shepard.”

His voice, warm like lava, electrifying like thunder, seizes her attention and doesn’t let go.

“I’m with you until the end. Okay?”

He sticks out his hand, palm upward and open, in a quiet show of support. When she takes his hand, he curls his fingers around hers, holding it calmly, allowing her to draw strength from him.

At last Shepard breathes, “Okay.”

When she eventually pulls her hand from his, and steps past him to give her report to the Council, to Ashley’s family, he finds himself wishing she didn’t let go. When he goes back upstairs and passes the meeting room, and sees her standing up straight and giving her report, a small part of him hopes the strength she found came from him.

When she’s ready to talk more, he will listen; for now, it’s time to forget this awful day with Horosk.


	6. Day Six: Disagreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are no avenger, Vakarian – you’re an archangel. Remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is day six: **disagreements** (set in ME2). A huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to support this little fic collection, I'm really grateful that you guys are reading/liking it. Enjoy!

The silence is almost as uncomfortable as the cybernetics beneath her skin – and that’s saying something.

It’s been a while since she was revived, since the Lazarus Cell breathed life into Shepard’s heart and lungs and brain. She thought she had adjusted to the cybernetics, but she hasn’t, and every so often, she is reminded of that in small ways.

Like when she clenches her teeth, and her jaw feels stiffer than it should be. Like when she crouches behind debris, and her knees don’t feel like they used to. Like now, in the silent return to the Normandy beside a member of her squad whose silence never made her feel uncomfortable.

Until now. Until Garrus here, after Sidonis; and she understands.

She reaches a hand out to him, “Garrus –”

“Not now,” he growls.

He said he didn’t want to talk about it yet, but it’s been a bit of time; still not time enough, clearly. She nods quickly and retracts her hand, watching him slip through the door once they are clear to re-enter, he stalks off immediately, heading back to his den. She watches him until he is out of sight, and then sighs.

To her left, Joker speaks, “Uhhh what happened?”

“Stuff,” she replies.

“Right, yeah, I can see that. Any chance you could give some, you know, _details?_ ”

“That’s his story to tell, not mine.”

“You’re no fun, you know that?”

Shepard waves a hand at him and heads to the elevator, quickly going up to her cabin to remove her armour and weapons. Every cell in her body is buzzing to talk to Garrus and explain why she did what she did, but she will respect his request, and at least give him some time.

So she fills her time with smaller activities. A shower, reading a new book she grabbed from the Citadel on Salarian mythology, watching the fish, watching her hamster, watching the fish again, feeding the fish before she forgets, stretching, checking her emails, even more reading – but it doesn’t disrupt her mind. It merely chews her time, until it has been hours later, when most of the crew sleeps.

She can’t take it anymore. She needs to make sure she’s alright and that he understands.

Putting her boots on, she slips out of her room and heads straight to the main battery. Every room she passes is empty, which she’s grateful for. Her steps take her to her destination, and she stops in front of the door, because it is locked.

She should take that as a sign to go away, but she won’t. Instead, Shepard knocks three times; there is no response on the other side. Shifting her weight to one leg, she huffs, “If you don’t open this door Vakarian, then I will.”

Shepard decides to give him three minutes to make good on that. It takes him one.

The red light changes to green, the doors hiss open before her toes, and she steps inside, seeing Garrus’ back to her. Once she’s in the room, it closes behind her with that same hiss. She wants to speak to him, but she’s not going to push him to speak until he’s ready. She just wants to know he is okay; she just wants him to know that she’s here.

And then he starts, looking over his shoulder, “Why?”

“Garrus –”

“Blood was spilled on his account, lives unjustly stolen; he needed to pay the price.”

“That’s not like you at all.”

“You weren’t here for _two years,_ Shepard,” Garrus grunts, spinning away from her, pacing up and down the Thanix Cannon. “For two whole years, the only person who ever gave a damn about me, who ever meant a damn thing _to_ me, was gone. Destroyed by an unknown enemy, your life stolen from you like he stole theirs. _A lot_ can happen in two years. A lot can change in two years – even old friends.”

She takes a breath in to calm herself. “You are blinded by pain.”

“ _You_ _knew_ what this meant to me!”

She has seen the best of him, and prevented the worst of him; but never has she seen his rage.

He turns on his heels and crosses the distance until he is standing before her again, eyes wild and irate, and she’s sure his subvocals would be growling if she could hear it. Never had she feared a turian, but for the briefest moment, she sees why others would.

Garrus spits, “You knew what this meant to me, you knew what I wanted to do for my men. You knew what was in my heart, and you still made me see grey. You still convinced me he deserved his life, when more deserving people should be breathing!”

“Like I said, there was nothing left to kill. You heard him, you _saw_ his face through the scope, he’s still carrying the weight of the dead,” Shepard replies firmly, crossing her arms. She will not be deterred by his anger. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t see the regret on his face. I know this hurts, but the best way to honour them is to show the mercy they should have been given. Be _better._ ”

“Don’t preach at me –”

“Revenge isn’t the answer.”

“You don’t get to tell me that,” Garrus snipes, spitting fire and pointing at her. “You don’t get to tell me that when any damn batarian you see sets your teeth on edge. You don’t get to tell me that when you shot Saren through the head and screamed that it was for Ashley.”

Shepard’s fingers dig into her arms. Her jaw clenches of its own accord. An ache buries itself underneath her ribcage, burrowing deep into her heart, and it hurts to breathe. A chill crawls up every notch of her spine, until it feels like it squeezes her neck.

He starts strong, but his voice fades in the back of his throat, ending in almost a whimper. “When we lost Ashley, we lost a friend, a good soldier. But when I lost you, I lost everything. The world was colourless, dull, and without joy or purpose – and they brought it back. They gave me joy again, and purpose again, and he stole them from me. He stole… so much.”

“He stole so much, and yet because of him, I found you again,” Shepard replies, willing herself to unclench her jaw. “Because of him, I still made my way back into your life. I know I’m not the same as I was then, and I know you’re not either. But at least tell me I’ve given your world some colour and purpose again.”

“No, Shepard,” he answers, “you’ve done that and more.”

The ache in her chest amplifies. “I am not preaching at you. I’m not all high and mighty and innocent. _You know_ me, I’m still me, I’m always gonna _be_ me. I’m not what strangers think I am, what whispers you heard in my absence. I’m telling you revenge isn’t the answer because I walked down that path, I treaded those steps. And it’s not worth it, it can destroy you, and I’d really rather not lose the best friend I have. I’ve been there, and I will _not_ let you follow me.”

She uncrosses her arms and raises her hand, placing it firmly on his scarred mandible; and he freezes slowly, like the crawl of morning frost across glass. And she is warm, melting his anger away, instilling something else in its place.

“You will not follow me here into the dark.”

“Stop trying to protect me. I told you, I’m with you until the end.”

Shepard smiles, taking her hand away, and for a moment it looks like he misses her touch. She wonders what’s bubbling beneath the surface – she wonders if she is not alone. “Yeah, you are, but I’ll never stop trying to protect you anyway. We’re a team, Garrus.”

“We are, but I don’t agree on the team’s decision to let Sidonis live.”

“You’ll thank me when you’re less shitty.”

“I probably will.” He pauses and looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry that I’m so mad.”

“Don’t apologise, I get it. I appreciate you letting me in, I just… I needed you to know.”

His voice softens, and she _hates_ it because of what it makes her feel. “To know what?”

“That I wasn’t trying to hurt you, or disregard you, your pain, or your feelings. That I was trying to protect you from the worst of yourself. That I understand how this feels, and that I want to help. You are going to be alright. Take the time you need for yourself. If you need me, you can come visit me up in my cabin. I’ll be reading. Just make sure to knock, please.”

Garrus says nothing as she turns away. She presses the button to unlock the door; and before she steps out, Shepard looks over her shoulder one more time, matching his stare with one of her own.

“You are no avenger, Vakarian – you’re an archangel. _Remember_ that.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, returning to her cabin quietly.


	7. Day Seven: Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this afterglow of combat, he knows she is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is late, this is sooo late, I'm sorry! Work has been super busy. This is the last one, day seven: **celebrate good times, come on!** (This is as close to a happy/good time fic as you'll get out of me LOL). Enjoy!

The Citadel is in ruins, and all he can do is smile.

Saren: dead by his own hand, restoring his race’s honour. Sovereign: annihilated, protecting the galaxy. The Council: saved, a guiding light for what is to come. There is fear of the Reapers returning, yes; but all Garrus can do right now is smile.

The hazy fog of battle evaporates from his mind, granting him clarity. Piercing blue eyes sweep across the damage, serious but not catastrophic, all fixable. Nearby, Tali nods at Anderson, as she’s pulled up from the ground. She clutches her shoulder, a high hiss of pain seeping through her mask. His joints ache and shake beneath the weight of his cracked armour, and his jaw, _damn,_ it feels like it could be broken. But it is worth pushing through the pain for this moment, it is worth putting up with the ache to smile at the pile of debris behind them. Anderson’s shocked face; Tali’s curious hum.

_Shepard_ rising from the wreckage.

_I knew it._

She limps towards them all, her arm pressed closed against her body; her steps are mostly steady, though they waver a little, like a banner in the breeze. Shepard’s face harbours a cautious optimism. The closer she gets to them, the more he sees the corners of her lips pulling upward. Her eyes dart from person to person; when they settle on him, her eyes appear glittery by the waning flames.

In this afterglow of war, he thinks she is the most beautiful sight he’s seen.

Tali reaches out a hand and weakly chokes, “Shepard, y-you’re alive!”

The Commander nods, her smile growing; she gently grabs Tali’s hand and gives it a fleeting, reassuring squeeze, before doing the same to Anderson, and then to him. Her touch feels like a brand through their gloves, one that leaves a pleasant burn, like a tingle. He pretends not to notice it. Garrus forces himself to speak, “Figured you’d come out at the last possible moment.”

“You know it, Vakarian.”

Anderson releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, “You are a remarkable soldier, Shepard.”

But she is not just _any_ soldier.

It is a sight that won’t fade from his memory any time soon: _she_ , bursting from the rubble –

* * *

– she is the Commander.

The Collector Base is ablaze, and all he can do is run.

The Human-Reaper: eradicated, ending a haunting horror. The Collectors: sundered, scrambling to save what’s left of ancient bones. The Illusive Man: presumably frustrated, watching his schemes fall through. There is nausea at the confirmation of the Reapers returning, yes; but all Garrus can do right now is run.

Adrenaline feeds through his body, gifting him speed. Determined blue eyes pass over his shoulder, watching his Commander following, though far behind. In front of him, Tali nods at Joker and steps onto the plate, safely crossing onto the Normandy. She turns to wave them in, a high screech of encouragement bursting from her mask. He feels sick and haunted by the experience; but he keeps going, boarding the Normandy even as the platform behind him collapses. But it is worth persevering for this moment, it is worth the gut-turning feeling when he turns and sees her approaching the ship. Joker’s relentless defence; Tali’s steadfast gaze.

_Shepard_ launching across the wide gap.

_I thought so._

Her fingers clasp the edge, hanging on for her life; the ship pulls away as he and Tali drag her up to safety. Once she’s onboard, Shepard’s face clearly reads relief. The four of them move away from the door as it closes. Joker heads towards the cockpit, aware their lives are still in jeopardy. But two pairs of blue eyes simply settle on each other, and they quickly embrace.

In this afterglow of combat, he knows she is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

Tali pats her on the back as the embrace is broken, “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

The Commander nods, pulling away and following Joker; the two dextros follow after. He reaches out for her hand, and she lets him take it, ignoring EDI’s countdown, watching the screens as the Normandy veers away from the Collector Base to a much safer distance. Her hand in his feels right, reminding him of the concept of home. Garrus hums and comments, “You sure know how to make an escape, huh?”

“You know it, Vakarian.”

Joker snorts, his voice rising above the sound of the explosion, “You’re a goddamn warrior, Shepard.”

But she is not just _any_ warrior.

It is a sight he will always remember: _she_ , leaping through the air –

* * *

– she is Shepard.

The Crucible fires, and all he can do is hope.

The husks: dissolving, into dust and then atoms. Harbinger: frozen, crackling with electricity and breaking down. The Reapers: ceasing, their purpose and their existence ending entirely as they fall from the sky and onto the ground. There is disbelief at the death of them, yes; but all Garrus can do right now is hope. 

Exhaustion buries itself into his bones, weighing him down. Drained blue eyes settle on the burning Citadel, having landed on Earth, as he takes shaky steps towards it. Behind him, Tali slowly picks up his dropped sniper rifle, holding it for safekeeping. They remained, standing on her homeworld to bolster friendly foreign forces, breathing her air – and she has not returned. He feels he’s lived a dozen lifetimes, surely; every step towards the ruins takes forever, but he keeps going, chasing that last thread of hope. But it is worth what he finds, it is worth the anxiety. His caged breath; Tali’s too.

_Shepard_ gasping for air beneath broken bones.

_Thank the Spirits._

She has no strength or energy to free herself; he bolts and crashes to his knees, throwing off whatever rubble he can. And when he sees Shepard’s face, though bloodied and bruised, he is reminded of her cautious optimism from two years ago, right here in the Citadel’s clutches. She is the leader the galaxy needed; he is her shoulder to lean on.

In this afterglow of victory, he knows she will always be the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

Tali’s speaks from several paces away, her tone coloured with joyous tears, “Keelah…”

The Commander weakly smiles up at him as he slips his arms underneath her upper body, as she raises one good arm to throw it across his carapace. He holds her close, revelling in her every breath, allowing his hope to transform into delight. An impossible future – and now, it has arrived. Garrus chokes, his voice thick with emotion, “I thought I lost you… You survived.”

“You know it, Vakarian.”

The turian buries his face into the crook of her neck, “You are our saviour.”

But she is not just _any_ saviour.

It is a sight he will never forget: _she_ , erupting from the ashes –

– like volcanic, molten rock.

* * *

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddd... that's it! This was a really fun challenge, glad that I made it to the end (though late). Thank you so, so much for your support, I really hope you all enjoyed this. Keep writing!


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